


In the Quiet

by violentdarlings



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Eavesdropping, F/M, Masturbation, Sam Winchester Needs a Hug, Season/Series 12, Trust Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-08
Updated: 2018-09-08
Packaged: 2019-07-08 12:51:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15930803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/violentdarlings/pseuds/violentdarlings
Summary: Sam knows every night that Eileen gets herself off.Set in some nebulous half-AU / half-canon where Eileen comes to live at the bunker in season 12.





	In the Quiet

Sam shares a bedroom wall with Eileen, which isn’t a big deal in and off itself. Since she came to stay in the bunker she’s been a perfectly appropriate house guest – she adores Dean and mothers him shamelessly, which of course he soaks up while grinning vapidly at Sam, crowing when she’s not around that Eileen likes him better. It irritates Sam, not least because his brother can be an annoying jerk, but because it’s almost like there’s a vein of truth to it. Eileen flirts with Sam, idly, like she doesn’t even notice she’s doing it, but it never goes any further.

So he lies on his bed that’s shoved against their shared wall and doesn’t think about what she might be doing on her side of it, except for the sound. Sam knows every noise of the bunker by heart, when it’s just him and Dean and occasionally Cas. Sam catalogues them, analyses them, until the lull of the familiar takes the edge off his paranoia and he can sleep. But with Eileen around, he’s thrown off his rhythm; a few nights of poor sleep ensue before his brain automatically adds her into his complex list of rituals and he adjusts. Soon he can sleep through the night even if Eileen’s nightmares keep her up, haunting the halls of the bunker, unwilling to admit that she is afraid.

(Sam’s own nightmares she is kinder to, which he doesn’t understand. The first time she stumbled across him in the library, head bent and hands gripping his hair while trying to get his thoughts in order, she’d made him tea, something sweet and strong, and sat with him until the lump in his throat settled and the ring of Lucifer’s voice quieted in his head.)

Sam turns in around ten. Dean is still up, trying to get a line on Cas, who’s MIA and responding to neither phone calls or prayers, but Sam’s beat. He strips down to boxers and a T-shirt, more habit than anything, because the last time Eileen got an eyeful of his bare chest she signed something rapid, flustered and indecipherable at him before beating a hasty retreat. He likes to think because she was impressed, but deep down Sam knows the truth; Eileen’s not stupid. She’s heard the same rumours every other hunter has; Lucifer’s vessel, the sixty-six seals, addicted to demon blood. And that’s just a catalogue of his older sins. Eileen is kind, but she’s a realist. She’ll see him for what he is soon enough.

Sam broods in the darkness for a while, before something unfamiliar breaks through his concentration, an awareness of something that isn’t usual. Sam strains his ears, but all he can hear is a faint buzz like an electric toothbrush, maybe skin sliding against sheets, and a sudden, distinct noise of pleasure in a familiar female voice –

Sam closes his eyes, curls into himself on his side, like that can protect him from the sound. For a moment his brain makes the dreadful connection of Eileen and Dean, but the thought scatters as soon as it comes. Eileen cares for Dean like a brother, or a wayward nephew, for all Dean is older than Eileen. And Sam would have heard it if there was a stranger in the bunker. Ergo, Eileen is alone, and, uh, _attending to her needs._

He tries to shut his ears, but it’s like shutting the gate after the horse has bolted; he’s hyper-aware, attuned to every little change in Eileen’s breathing, the speed of it, the eventual slowing into sleep.

Sam himself doesn’t catch a wink.

He’s not some idiot kid to make a big deal about a woman getting herself off, but all the same, he looks at Eileen a little differently in the morning, noticing little details he hadn’t allowed himself to notice before, wondering if he should say something. She’s tiny but she’s strong, and she saves their collective asses at least once a fortnight. She deserves better than to be shamed by him for something natural and normal, something that relieves stress and alleviates tension.

Hell. Sam scrubs a weary hand through his hair. He could do with some of that himself. So he says nothing, and eyes Eileen a little closer in the morning. She is clear-eyed and calm, but no more so than usual, and she notices him looking.

WHAT’S EATING YOU WINCHESTER, she signs, speaking the words as she does. Sam laughs a little, shakes his head.

“Nothing,” he replies, and applies himself to his smoothie, grinning behind his glass.

He tries not to listen. Sam doesn’t want to be that guy, creeping on the girl next door (literally), but his hearing is hunter-sharp, so much so that he wonder if it has improved by supernatural means one of the many times he’s died. Even if he was the type to wear earplugs, which he isn’t, he doubts they’d be strong enough to dull the sounds of the bunker, and Eileen just brick and cement away –

_(Sam imagines, dreams it really, one of her pale hands splayed against the wall, bracing herself, and Sam, feeling like a complete idiot and also considerably turned on, puts his own out too, like he can feel her through the stone, her skin against his, tiny little woman hand against his own massive paw)_

Eileen doesn’t speak, she makes little squeaking noises that cumulate with a soft, drawn out moan that goes straight to Sam’s cock. By the fourth time he could diagram out the peaks and troughs of her pleasure, could know it as easily as the lines of his palm, but it is a distant knowledge, like the position of the stars or the memory of Jessica, sun-limned and recklessly alive, when Sam thought he knew pain, the shape and scale of it, all the way down to his core.

Lose another piece of his heart, when he’s sure he doesn't have that much left? Better to be safe.

So Sam lies there with a raging hard-on and listens to Eileen Leahy love the parts of herself he can’t bear to contemplate, in the quiet clamour of the night.


End file.
